


Courageous

by kingofquietstars



Series: Love? Love! [2]
Category: The CiviliTy of Albert Cashier - Stevens & Wooden/Deratany
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Trans Character, Declarations Of Love, Drunken Confessions, Homophobia, M/M, Musicals, Transphobia, coac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofquietstars/pseuds/kingofquietstars
Summary: Jeff has come to terms with his feelings for Albert, but still hasn't confessed them to Albert. Surely a night of post-midterms bar hopping will help with that situation. Right?





	Courageous

**Author's Note:**

> This part does feature some mild homophobia and transphobia directed at the characters, as well as drinking and fighting.

**Courageous- _adjective_ not deterred by danger or pain; brave.**

Life moved on after that day. I hadn’t told you that I loved you ever since I had chickened out once I got home after my conversation with Collins and still hadn’t plucked up the courage to say anything. But we all settled into a comfortable rhythm and I tried my best to hide my more overwhelming feelings. It actually wasn’t that hard. Midterms rolled around soon after my epiphany and we were all on our own schedules between studying and cramming and writing papers. I felt like I hardly saw you at all around that time. It always seemed like you were stuck in the library, or I was out working on a project, or you were staying up late working in your room, or I was out getting help with my papers, or one or the other of us was at work. Sometimes I would go days without seeing you. One night I walked in from my late shift at work and found you knocked out on the couch, still in your work clothes from your shift at the bar, obviously having been in the middle of trying to squeeze in one last reading before you fell asleep. I couldn’t help but take the blanket off the back of the couch and pull it up over your shoulders. You wouldn’t know who’d done it when you woke up the next morning, but it was the best way I had in that moment to tell you I loved you.

Once it was all over, though, Billy managed to convince us to go out bar hopping to celebrate, even though he couldn’t drink yet. He was especially convincing because 1) he had taken apart the stove again and hadn’t put it back yet and 2) he said he’d pay for Walter if Walter promised to let him drink his whiskey when we got home. So the four of us set out late on Friday night, high on the thrill of surviving midterms yet again. All the bars were packed with college kids ready to drink away their sorrows and exhaustion until they couldn’t remember the events of the last week. Some of the lightweights were already on their last legs when we arrived at the first tavern a few blocks from home. I quickly flashed my ID at the bartender before getting one of the brightly-colored, fruity drinks. Admittedly, I got it mostly for the umbrella, but it tasted pretty damn good too. You walked up next to me and slowly pulled out your ID. The bartender snatched it out of your hands and spent a long time looking between you and the card before reluctantly sliding you a beer. I tried not to think too much of it, of what the bartender was actually scrutinizing on that card. You looked young, a lot of people probably thought it was a fake based on your birthday. I missed the way you looked down at your knees when he slid the card back across the counter.

We went to a few more bars after that. I had managed to nab five umbrellas along the way and I was slowly trying to fit them all behind my ears. If you thought I was goofy and uncoordinated when I was sober, then I was near an absolute mess when I was drunk. Walter and Billy had stumbled home for the night. Billy was ready for his Walter-sanctioned whiskey and Walter, having become a functional alcoholic at age twenty-two, was just tired. So it was just the two of us left. We wandered around downtown for a while until we found a sleepy, biker bar on the edge of town. It was getting late and there were only a few people left inside, just the bartender and a few rough-looking men playing pool. I was maybe a little too excited to find out that I could get yet another umbrella for my collection, and you had loosened up enough to be uncontrollably laughing along with me.

“Look what I made!” I giggled loudly as I made you examine the crown of tiny, exotic umbrellas I had managed to stick in my hair.

“What… the fuck… are you doing?” You laughed at me, swaying back and forth as you took in my creation.

“I am the Fruit King!” I tried to whisper at you, but it came out louder than I had expected. I leaned in to you, foreheads now pressed together and silly grins growing wider by the moment.

“Fruity’s more like it.” One of the men at the pool table commented and his friends roared with laughter. I pulled away, my smile now replaced with a hard line. I started to pull the paper umbrellas out of my hair, but your hand shot up to make me stop.

“Hey, fuck off, alright?” You whipped around to face the men, staring at them with steely eyes like you could make them disappear with nothing more than your trademark scowl. You stuck your chin out, trying to be ten feet taller than you actually were.

“No, Albert, it’s fine…” I whispered to you. I knew where this was headed, and I didn’t want to cause a scene. It really was fine, I could handle a few drunken taunts. It happened all the time, ever since I was a kid. People always called me fruity, flowy, fairy, everything like that. I was always too loud, too talkative, too excitable. I was too girly, I was too sensitive, had too many feelings. To everyone else, I was just a…

“Fuckin’ faggot. What you gonna do bitch, gonna come defend your girlfriend?”

“Naw, it’s gonna take her home and kiss all her boo-boos away.” It. It. A fire exploded in your eyes when he called you it. You swallowed the last of your scotch with a scrunched-up face and slammed the glass back on the counter, ready for a fight. I watched you in shock as you approached the men. These guys had even a few inches on me, and I was more than a head taller than you. But it didn’t matter. You were going to fight this battle, no matter how skinny and scrappy you were.

“The hell did you just call me?” It wasn’t a question. Your voice was threateningly low and even. You stood inches away from the man, visibly fuming, fists white-knuckled at your side, ready to strike. The man scoffed at you, laughing off your warning.

“Got a temper, don’t it?” He screamed and doubled over as you stomped hard on his foot.

“Wrong answer!” You spat in his face. The other men moved in on you quickly after that, their faces suddenly turned livid and dangerous. It was a wild mess of limbs, punching and flailing to hit anything you could reach. You were a messy fighter, not against kicking, biting, scratching, or anything else that could one up your opponents. But they were bigger, and no amount of blind rage from your end could change that. One of the men gripped you by the arms and threw you ungraciously against the pool table. I heard you grunt in pain as the wind was knocked out of your system, and you hit your head hard on your way to the floor. I was up before you hit the ground, and my fists came into contact with the man that had thrown you. I threw all my strength at these men. Nobody was going to hurt my friend and get away with it. Pain exploded in my jaw and I tasted metal as blood dripped out of my mouth. I kept throwing punches as I stumbled away and fell into the bar, dizzy and drunk.

“Hey! Hey! Break it up and take it outside!” The entire fight was over in a matter of seconds. The bartender stepped between us, angrily staring us down. “Get out and go home!” We all came to our senses and sobered up a bit after that. The three men lumbered out, bruises already beginning to show but otherwise mostly unmarked from the brawl. You and I on the other hand… we were a mess.

I offered you my hand and helped you stand up again, slowly guiding you out of the bar and out onto the curb. We sat beneath a streetlight and I made you take your hand away from your face long enough for me to look at your injuries. I took your face in my aching hands and tilted it up so I could see better in the light, not noticing how I stroked my fingers gently along your cheeks. Your nose was bleeding all over your face, but it didn’t look broken. One of your eyes was swelling a bit and you were bruised everywhere else, but it wasn’t too bad all things considered. We sat in the silence of the morning for a while, taking in the cold air and letting it clear our foggy brains a little bit.

“Hey, Jeff?” Your voice broke the quiet. I looked over at you and saw something almost sad in your eyes. “Thank you.”

“Why’re you thanking me? You were the one that fought those guys for me first. I should be thanking you.” I paused for a moment while I turned back to the empty street in front of us. The image of you walking up to those men, chest puffed out, fists clenched in preparation for the fight, tilting your head up to meet their gaze, flashed across my memory. “You’re fearless, Albert.”

“Fearless because I tried to fight a bunch of guys twice my size? Stupid’s more like it.” You looked down and examined your bruised knuckles, grinning bitterly at the pain.

“A little bit, yeah. But that’s not the part I was talking about.” I met your eyes again, carefully thinking about my next words for the first time in my life. “That ID doesn’t match, does it? It’s got the wrong name and stuff. Wrong gender.” You looked away. I had known for a while, it’s not like you kept it a secret from us. You weren’t embarrassed because I knew. You were more embarrassed that I noticed how it hurt you. “You’re fearless, Albert, because you spent the whole night having to show people that, and you didn’t put up a fight about it or anything, no matter what people thought or how they looked at you after, you just did it. But then you stood up for me, Albert, when you could’ve hunkered down and taken it and been invisible, but you didn’t, and nobody’s ever done that for me before.” My eyes stung as I thought about all the times before when people had made fun of me and nobody said anything. Kids who were supposed to be my friends joined in on it and took jabs at me, and adults turned a blind eye. Strangers would make comments about me when they thought I couldn’t hear, and I always knew the whispers from the back of the class were people I barely knew calling me weird. After a while, it just got easier to pretend I couldn’t hear it.

“Nobody ever did it for me either.” Your voice broke me out of my thoughts. “I’ve been on my own all this time. Just second nature now to take down anyone that’s hurting me. It’s easier if I can hit ‘em. Feels like every day is a fight for me sometimes. If I don’t stand my ground, and just let people walk all over me, call me whatever they want, they’re never gonna respect me. I won’t ever get to be myself. It’s not right for people to talk to you like that. You deserve all your neon drinks and umbrella crowns and ridiculous drunk giggles if you want them.” That smile came back as you playfully poked at the last umbrella that had managed to cling to my hair through the fight. That impossibly warm, beautiful, genuine smile that spread all the way to your eyes and made me feel like I should laugh or scream or cry or something because I couldn’t hold it all in. I couldn’t help myself any longer. I pulled you into my chest, curling around you in a desperate, crushing hug. All the pent-up stress from the last few weeks left my body when I felt you hugging me back.

“I love you. I love you so much.” I whispered into your hair as we rocked back and forth on the sidewalk, both laughing and crying at the same time, the last of the alcohol in our systems making our feelings too much to handle. “I love you, Albert D. J. Cashier, and your smile and the way it makes your eyes so bright and it makes me smile back all dopey and big and stupid and I love your grouchiness and your bed head in the morning and I love when you take my shirts because they always come back smelling like you and I love how patient you are with me when I mess up and I love how stubborn you are and that you’ll fight anything in your way even if it’s three drunk giants and I love it when you stand close to me and I love how goddamn beautiful you are and I love how much you believe in me and I love that you make me feel like I’m home wherever I am as long as it’s with you and I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“Jeffrey N. Davis,” You pulled out of my embrace just enough so you could look at me again. “Shut up and let me kiss you.”


End file.
